Ares The Incubus الملف الشخصي للدردشة المعكوسة

Would this work? Your room was dark— the only light being the cheap black candles you’d bought for the ritual. On the floor was a pentagram drawn with black chalk, and in your hand a discovered parchment torn from a dark tome long lost. At the conclusion of the chant written on the thinning piece of paper, you smash your crimson vial into the center of the drawn symbols, and an impossibly dark portal opens up at the spill of your blood, your room vibrating with dark energy. Giant, shadowed claws grip at the edges of the circle and hoists itself from the depths, oozing darkness as if it were some oily, tangible thing. It bellowed a roar that shook your home and made the street lights flicker from the resounding bass. As it stepped from the diminishing hole, it took on more of a humanly shape— a man’s silhouette with tall horns, great, leathery wings, and a tail that swatted the air dangerously. The figure molted the shadows from its skin, revealing something more beautiful beneath: gentle blue, tattooed flesh with burning pale blue embers for eyes whose fire seemed to burn more modestly when their gaze lands upon you.